


Code 1337

by julidoesnotwrites (notjuli)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alcohol, M/M, Sherlock Being a Drama Queen, mention of drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-18 12:29:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18249875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjuli/pseuds/julidoesnotwrites
Summary: Sherlock makes a deduction and overreacts, because what does it mean for him if his brother allows sentiment?





	Code 1337

**Author's Note:**

> This work is not Beta-ed not Brit-picked and English is not my first language, so if you notice any errors please do leave a coment letting me know!

The day was a fairly normal one -to Baker Street standards, obviously-. It was their second day in a row without a case, but boredom was not a matter of urgency just yet.

John had updated his blog and cleaned a bit, and was now considering making dinner instead of ordering takeaway _again_. Sherlock had gone to Barts in the morning to bug Molly about some corpses and whatnot and returned in a good mood, even accepting a sandwich for lunch and then spent most of the evening inspecting the books in the shelves and rearranging them in some bizarre way that John knew better than to ask about.

That's how they found themselves; John in his armchair checking his blog and Sherlock by the book shelf with three books in hand, when Greg arrived to Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson was the one to open the door and they heard him coming up the stairs, so while John got up to greet him and whatnot Sherlock didn't even bother turning around. But when he did-

When he did turn around he dropped the books he had in hand to the floor and screamed loudly; “No! No, no, no, no!” and turned around placing his hands over his eyes while ranting nonsense; “No! I can't believe it! No! It's not- No! I'm going to kill him! I'm going to kill you! I don't know which one is worse! I want to kill you both, I will. Oh it's horrible! Oh i'm going to kill Mycroft! Oh, oh, oh, I hate him! I hate him! Why would he _do_ that? Why would _you_ do that?! It's all to spite me I'm sure! It has to be fake! It can not be real. It is fake, it has to be. Oh i'm going to kill Mycroft. Oh I hate him I hate both of you. Oh no, no, no, no!” and as soon as he started he turned around and left to his room, closing the door loudly after him.

John was the first one to react, turned to Greg and “what was all that about?”

“Not sure,” answered Greg, “but I think we should call Mycroft for this” he said, already with his mobile in hand.

“Yes. Yes, this was all about Mycroft somehow. And you? What happened?”

“Not entirely sure,” with his mobile to the ear and- “Hey Myc- yes, yeah. I guess but- Yes, ok. Five to ten minutes? Yeah that's all right. Yes, ok.” And he turned to John, “He can't escape out his window in there, can he?” To which John shaked his head, and back to the call, “no he can't. Yes ok, five to ten minutes.” and he ended the call. “He'll be here in five to ten minutes, said we should make tea. Also, it's really creepy that he's monitoring you guys all day, doesn't it bothers you?”

“Yes, I know, and yes, it does bothers me,” he said turning to a corner of the room and staring strongly for a moment. Camera there, Greg guessed. “But what happened?” John asked heading to the kitchen, where he could hear some indecipherable noises through the door and then a loud bang of something hard hitting the wall, as he started making the tea.

“I really think we should wait for Mycroft to get here.” Answered Greg sounding unsure.

And so, five to ten minutes and a few more loud bangs from Sherlock later, Mycroft reached the top of the stairs just as John was placing the teacups in the coffee table, “John, Gregory.” He addressed each with a nod and headed to Sherlock's bedroom stopping just in front of the closed door.

“Sherlock, brother mine,” and he was greeted with silence. In the sitting room both John and Greg were listening carefully. “Sherlock,” and still more silence followed by a groan and another bang, “Sherlock, please do come out here and stop hitting your head on the wall. You'll have bruises and a headache for a week, and you know you hate those.”

“Piss off Mycroft!”

“Sherlock, please, I would not like to have this conversation facing a closed door.”

As he was greeted with no more than silence he took a deep breath and said, “We have a Code one-three-three-seven brother dear.” After a few more moments of silence he spoke again; “Name, Mycroft Holmes. To, Sherlock Holmes. Information, Code one-three-three-seven. Password, Paramount Penguin, last change as of June 2006.”

After another minute or so of silence they heard Sherlock's response in the smallest voice both Greg and John had ever heard from him, “I really hate you, you know.”

To which Mycroft chuckled - _actually_ chuckled- and said “Yes. Yes I know Sherlock. Now would you please come out here?”

And after another moment the door opened and Sherlock came out with a rosy forehead and headed to his armchair where he sat hit his knees up his chest.

“Were you really banging your head against the wall?” John asked Sherlock, who ignored him but Mycroft nodded as he grabbed his cup of tea and sat down in the sofa next to Greg. John huffed but got up to the kitchen and came back a moment later with an ice-pack wrapped in a towel that he placed in Sherlock's hand.

A few minutes passed in uncomfortable silence where they just sipped tea and Sherlock held the ice-pack in place until Mycroft spoke again, “I sure hope you are not actually angry Sherlock, you knew that this could happen at some point, that's why there's a code for it.”

As Sherlock didn't seem like he was answering so Greg spoke up next.

“Yeah, what was that code thing? That was actually weird.”

Mycroft looked up to Sherlock once more, who kept ignoring them.

“When we were young we decided that it would be intelligent to have some kind of code for pretty much every situation we could cover, in case we needed to communicate with each other without actually revealing any information. And because it was easier to say codes than to actually speak about things sometimes. And so we did; we never wrote it down because that could be found by someone, it's just in my mind and his, no one could get it that way. And it's been extremely useful over the years, especially while living with our parents and things were blowing up or catching on fire almost daily; Code forty-six was an active fire, happened mostly in the kitchen,” he finished with a small smile.

“Wait so,” Greg addressed Sherlock, “you can remember over a thousand codes that you never even wrote up since you were, what? Like twelve? And you couldn't be bothered to remember my bloody name?”

“He was four when we started, we created most of them then and there were few modifications and additions over the years; in actuality there are two thousand seven hundred and forty eight codes, even if at least two hundred are invalid or inapplicable anymore. And, he does know your name, has known it for years, he likes pretending he doesn't care, you know this already.”

“Idiot” was the first time Sherlock spoke up in a while.

“Brother dear, ready to have a conversation like adults do?” asked Mycroft, to which Sherlock scoffed but looked up and asked,

“Are you sure? Really, really sure Mycroft?”

Mycroft nodded. Sherlock glared at him, then at Lestrade, and then back to his brother.

“Ok, well, someone wants to explain to the lesser minded here what's going on?” John asked lightly.

“Well John, my brother here is being what you've so nicely put in other occasions as a ‘drama queen’.”

“Well, yeah, that much I've figured, but why?”

Mycroft exchanged looks with Greg for a moment and then he turned back to John,

“Well, he... deduced, that Gregory and I are now... In a relationship?” he finished almost unsure, to which Greg nodded quickly in agreement and reassurance.

Sherlock groaned and John looked disbelievingly at Greg.

“Mate!”

To which Greg quickly put his hands in the air and claimed that “It's really new mate! And we have a Pub Night this weekend right?”

“Ta, yes, but were you going to tell me then?”

“Mmmaybe?” John chuckled to that.

“Well, ok, congratulations then guys... And the problem then is?” He addressed Sherlock at the end, who glared at him. “Oh, yeah, drama queen” John chuckled again.

Sherlock huffed and got up to leave.

“Sherlock, brother, we are not done here, I'm sure you have questions,” Mycroft tried.

“You've already said more than enough Mycroft. One-three-three-seven right? Ha! Funny coming from you with all your 'goldfish’ and ‘caring is not an advantage’ talks.”

“Sherlock...” Mycroft sounded both wary and threatening.

“Fuck you Mycroft.” And he left, footsteps banging loudly down the stairs.

A moment passed in silence,

“Well then,” said Greg, “that could've been worse.” And he pressed his hands to his head.

“It's not you he's angry about Gregory,” reassured Mycroft, “he's not angry at you nor about you nor because of you; he's angry with me entirely. And it may be deserved.”

“Why is that?” asked John.

Mycroft schooled his expression as best as he could while he explained,

“Well, as you must know by now John, or you could guess, both my brother and I are particularly bad when it comes to feeling and emotions, especially our own. Sherlock has always been much more emotional out of the two of us, but still, you know... And for the longest time I kept trying to repress those emotions, not only my own, but Sherlock's too. Especially Sherlock's, he'd always been too emotional... So it makes sense that now he reacts so... Strongly, to this.”

“... To... You being in a relationship?”

“To a code one-three-three-seven of course.”

“Right.”

...

“And what does it mean exactly?”

“Eh, well, I- hm... I-” And he was interrupted by his phone- “And that would be my brother.”

“He would text you? Now?”

“No, of course not. That'd be Minerva notifying me where he went to,” he clarified.

“Minerva?” Asked Greg, “Just last week she was Sophia.”

“Yes, and I believe John met her as Anthea,” he said with a smirk. “Well, I'll be off,” he walked to the door and checked his phone, “I'll bring him back here in a-” And he stopped dead in tracks, petrified, looking at the text he received.

“What? What is it Mycroft? Where is he?” John asked alarmed, noticing something wrong.

Mycroft turned around and looked back at them, first John and then Greg.

“Where did he go Mycroft?”

“He... He is in the same place where we found him when he last overdosed.”

“Fuck.”

“What? Is he doing fucking drugs again because of this?!”

“No John, he is not. I highly doubt he went there with that in mind. He most probably went there because he knows I'm... Not fond of that place.”

“No shit!” Exclaimed Greg.

“I'm going to kill him,” said John.

“Oh, get in line,” Greg again.

“Both of you will wait here until I bring him back, then you are free to kill him and lecture him all you'd like,” Mycroft assured already halfway down the stairs.

“Myc!” Called Greg after him, descending himself, “You sure you want to go alone?”

“Yes Gregory, I believe I should.”

“Ok, but you call me if you want me there alright?”

“Yes Gregory.”

“Take care yeah? And tell that idiot brother of yours I'm killing him when he gets back.”

“Yes, of course. Stay with John.”

And like that he turned back and left.

//

“‘Myc’ is it?” Asked John once Greg sat back down on the sofa. “I honestly can't believe it.”

“Yeah, neither can I sometimes.”

“God, you are shagging the British Government himself Greg! That's crazy.”

“And you are shagging Sherlock Holmes! Shut up.”

“No, I'm not and you know it.”

“True, you only wish you were.”

“Oh fuck you!” John said and got up. “God, I need a beer. Want one?” Asked already opening the fridge.

“Yes please. What a day!”

“Well, now,” John said sitting down again, each with a beer in hand, “go on, tell me.”

“What?”

“Oh don't play the idiot card with me! You and Mycroft. How did that happened? What happened? When? But I don't want a single detail about your- about Mycroft's, oh god!- sex life or I'm throwing you out, you hear me?”

“Oh god, we're having this conversation now? I'm not drunk enough,” he said with a laugh. “Well, I don't know, I've known him since I met Sherlock, you know how it goes, the kidnapping, the trying to get you away from him-”

“Wait! Wait. Did he kidnapped you too? Did he kidnapp a fucking Scotland Yard Detective Inspector? God, what a dick he is!”

“Yeah, god, that was so long ago. But yeah, so, I don't know, we've always talked once in a while, especially in the beginning, to keep Sherlock on check with the drugs and shit. And then once he was for sure out of it -when you came into the picture- we kinda didn't stop? Like he kept calling me for updates sometimes and I texted him often enough. And...? Yes, I don't know. It happened. So, yeah, that?”

“You are telling me... That you've been talking with Mycroft Holmes, for what? Ten years? And then one day you suddenly shagged and now you are together? God, you are incredible! And an idiot!”

“That's not what happened at all!”

//

“Uhg, you came. I was hoping you wouldn't,” Mycroft heard him before he saw him. And then he did, see him that is, and if it weren't for his clothes it would've been the exact same picture he saw eight years before, with his brother in the exact same position, on the same floor, in the same corner. This time there was no vomit around nor on him and he had all of his clothes on.

“I told you once I would always come for you and that's not going to change now Sherlock,” he said as he stepped closer. “Now please do get up, we are not having this conversation here.” Sherlock grunted a bit but did so.

They got out and got into one of Mycroft's cars and rode in silence. When the car stopped and they got out Sherlock took one look at the building in front of him and spoke up again. “How terribly cliché of you this is Mycroft. Are you getting emotional?”

“You chose the location, brother mine. You knew exactly where we would go to after that,” was all he said. They entered and climbed up the stairs to the rooftop. As soon as they were there, Sherlock took a seat on the floor resting his back on one of the walls and extended his hand to Mycroft, who sat down next to his brother and took out a cigarettes package. “John wouldn't like to know you were smoking,” he warned but they took each a cigarette regardless.

They smoke in silence for a while, each lost in thought, looking the sun starting to set over the city.

“For real Mycroft?” Asked Sherlock halfway through his cigarette. Mycroft nodded. “I can't believe you,” was all he said.

“Are you... Are you angry? With me?”

“I- I don't know. Maybe. I think so.” He let a few moments pass and he turned so they were looking at each other on the eye. “I should be. I have all the right in the world to be, and you know this.”

Mycroft nodded, because Sherlock had a point. “I- I have to apologize Sherlock. I truly hope you know that all I did in my life was with your best interests in mind.”

“Piss off Mycroft,” spatted Sherlock.

Mycroft put out his cigarette and got up. He extended a hand down to Sherlock. Sherlock huffed, took one last drag, put out his own and grabbed his brother's hand. Once he was up they both straightened out their clothes (especially Mycroft, mostly Mycroft) and went back down to the car.

“I think,” Mycroft spoke up, “Now that we are in this ‘brothers-bonding’ moment,” he made air quotes, “And since we are already in tipic, that it would be a social nicety of me to ask about you and John...”

“Fuck you.”

“Yes, I thought so.”

And they drove in silence all the way back to Baker Street.

//

When they were arriving Mycroft spoke up again, as if he just remembered; “I was asked to tell you by both Gregory and John that they would like to kill you when they see you.” Sherlock scoffed and as soon as the car came to a full stop he slammed open the door and bolted inside.

When Mycroft finally stepped into the sitting room he found Greg and John with a second beer in hand each, both looking in the direction of Sherlock's room, and he quickly deducted that he'd locked himself in there again.

“John,” Mycroft addressed him, “I believe it would be best for you to go check on him now.”

John quickly got up and walked through the corridor to Sherlock's room.

Mycroft turned to Greg and took a seat on the couch next to him. Greg instinctively took his hand on a tight grip.

Mycroft spoke up first. “I believe I owe you an apology Gregory, dear. Both for myself and for my brother.”

“The only apology you owe me is for not telling me you have a super secret code system with your brother before, that's super cool!” Greg said with a laugh.

Mycroft smiled lightly and shook his head.

“It's true! It's as if you were super spies with cool codes and all. What did it mean by the way? One three three seven, was it?”

“Yes, one three three seven, that was it.”

“Well? What does it mean? Or is it against the rules for me to know? You already told us the  fire one.”

“I- Well I- Ok.” He took a deep breath and, “Love. It means love.” Greg blinked at him and Mycroft averted his eyes. “It means literally ‘Invoker of the Code is in Love.’ Because- Because I love you Gregory.”

“You- You just told me you love me for the first time on your brother's couch?” He sounded shocked and with a tone of laughter. “God, Holmes’ are really a thing, bloody hell,” He was definitely laughing now, Mycroft petrified in place, not knowing how to take this reaction, since it was definitely not what he was expecting. “Bloody kiss me you idiot,” said Greg, pulling him down, one hand on his neck, the other holding tightly his hand.

//

John knocked on the door. “Hey Sherlock, it's me, can I come in?”

Sherlock mumbled something from inside and John took that as a yes.

“Ok, I'm coming in,” he warned and opened the door.

Inside, he found the room dimly lit, just the curtain barely open, and Sherlock laying on his bed face down, head buried on his pillows. John slowly walked closed and sat on the edge of the bed. He placed one hand on Sherlock's back, sensing his need for comfort, and not really knowing what to do.

They stayed like that, in silence, John drawing circles on Sherlock's back for a few minutes before John felt Sherlock starting to calm down.

Finally, Sherlock turned to his side and moved his head up, facing John, and spoke up. “I don't like it.”

“What? Mycroft and Greg being together?”

“No, not that. Well, yes, but not really. It's just- Mycroft. Mycroft _feeling_ things, and admitting it.”

“Why?”

“Because he shouldn't feel things! Because neither of us should! But now he does! He's supposed to be the worst of us! And now he is admitting to _love_!”

“And why does that bother you?”

Sherlock scowled. “... Because... Because if he does feel, if he lets himself feel and he admits it... Maybe I should do so too...”

John was left speechless for a moment. He'd never heard Sherlock like this, talking about things like this, so emotional.

“Well... What- What do you think you should feel, or let yourself feel?”

“... I don't think I should answer that, John.”

“Why not? You are with me, I promise not to tell anyone,” he reassured, not wanting Sherlock to close off again. Sherlock huffed to that and stayed silent for what seemed like an eternity.

“I think- I should probably tell you how- How much I... How much you- How important, indispensable, you are to me. But- but I can't express that. I don't know how to measure that. Feelings, emotions, are in no way something I can categorize, measure, it makes no sense at all. I know you are indispensable, I know nothing else would matter if it weren't for you anymore, I know you are the most important thing in my life, I know you are a constant in my life, but completely unpredictable yourself, always surprising me as you do. I know all this. But it doesn't make sense! I just know this things, everything in me tells me they are true, they are this way, but I don't know the motive, I don't know the why. They are like making correct deductions from absolutely no clues whatsoever. I know they are like this, I know you are here, I know you ‘have my back’ as it's said, but I just- can't explain it. In the same way I can't explain why I find myself trying to make you smile, why I don't want you to leave, why I like the face you make when I eat, why, even though I know I can and could do just fine without you, if you you did leave, if you wouldn't smile, if you wouldn't stand me being rude, I find myself not wanting that. I find that I don't want you to leave, I don't want to live without you again. And I just can't explain why. It makes absolutely no sense and it's probably a bit not good.” He finished looking down.

John was left not only speechless but brainless it seemed, as his brain could not process what he'd just heard.

He must've heard wrong, he must've blacked out and imagined that, because never once in his life would he had imagined Sherlock Holmes, self proclaimed sociopath, able of giving such a speech.

It was the most romantic and absolutely maddest thing -declaration, John had heard in his entire life. And it was directed to him. And it came from none other than Mr. Sherlock Holmes himself.

John had definitely gone mad. He slowly moved his right hand to his left arm and he pinched himself, hard.

John took a deep breath and counted to ten before speaking, really not wanting to mess anything up right now. “Sherlock? I- Can I ask you something?” He nodded. “Do... Can I try something?” Nod. “I want to try and kiss you, would that be ok?” Nod. “Sure? I don't want to forc-”

“Yes John.”

“Ok, well then...”

John shifted, looking for a more comfortable angle. He placed one hand on the bed next to Sherlock's head, holding himself up, and the other rested lightly on Sherlock's cheek. He moved down, closer to Sherlock, slowly, leaving him more than enough time to move away. He closed his eyes a few centimeters away and just then their lips made contact. It was a really small kiss, nothing more than soft lips on even softer lips, and it lasted no more than a few seconds before John moved back again.

He opened his eyes and before he could even open his mouth Sherlock placed a hand on his neck and dragged him back down, pressing their lips together again, stronger this time. John lost balance with the surprise and ended up with both arms at each side of Sherlock's head, elbows on the bed. A hand flew to Sherlock's curls and he opened his mouth a bit.

If asked later, John wouldn't have been able to tell how long the kiss was. It felt like an eternity, but also like it was over in seconds. It was nothing like the first one, but it was just as perfect. It was an awkward position, yeah, but it felt like the two best kisses John had in his life.

When they finally pulled away, after John got his breath back, he spoke up again.

“Well,” he said, “that answers some questions...”

They looked at each other for a moment and exploded in laughter.

Once they calmed down again John was the first to talk.

“We should talk...”

“What we should do is kick off my brother first,” Sherlock said.

“Oh god! Fuck, I left them out there a while ago...”

“I didn't hear them leave, but it's a possibility since I was... distracted. Either that or they are making out in the couch. God I'm going to be sick.”

“Hey, don't be mean to them!”

“Go kick them out John!”

“I hate you.”

“No you don't,” he said with a smile.

“No I don't,” he smiled too.

“... John?”

“Yes Sherlock?”

“I think I may have a Code one-three-three-seven...”

“Oh. Oh... Me- Me too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you liked it! Feel free to comment anything youd like to say, id love reading what you think of this! I really liked the original idea for this fic but im not completley happy with how it turned out to be; if you have any advice about that please do comment!
> 
> You can find me on tumblr [here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/thisisnotjuli) on my personal blog and [here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/fanishjuli) on my fandoms blog!


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